


Black Wings

by gunmetal_ring (tarakd7)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, My First Fanfic, Pre-Series, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-10 14:37:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4395671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarakd7/pseuds/gunmetal_ring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's story, as told through Dean's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot emphasize enough how much I would appreciate constructive criticism! I haven't really written anything before and I'd like to make it a hobby. Thanks for reading!

He's blindsided.  
  
Dean had been working at the local garage in his spare time, making money under the table for the past month that they'd lived in this podunk little town. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be enrolling in the next town's high school; what good was shit like math and science and _fucking_ art class in his world? He showed up a few times a week, a few hours a day, so that the truancy officers would stay off his ass - he sure as shit didn't need any cops investigating, because then they'd find out that a seventeen-year-old and a thirteen-year-old had been squatting in some shitty wreck, and then the higher-ups would come nosing around, and then Dad wouldn't find out 'til it was too late, and then, what do you know, Dean would have failed at his one job _(keep Sammy safe)_ \- but other than that, he was at the garage. The pay kept them in Ramen and peanut butter and new notebooks, and besides, he was learning something useful in case _(not that she ever would, she's more reliable than I am)_ Baby broke down.  
  
Dean's eighteenth birthday comes and goes without much fuss, except for how Sam surprises him at the garage with some chocolate bars he'd stolen from the school's vending machine - didn't even get caught, says he did it with a coat hanger from the teacher's lounge, sneaky little bastard - and a few weeks later, Dad comes home tells them to pack up, he found a new hunt across the country and they're leaving early tomorrow morning.  
  
Sam predictably throws a complete shit-fit, says he likes it here, says he's finally got friends, and storms off, leaving Dean to deal with the aftermath and either convince his Dad to let them stay just a little longer _(yeah right, just hang around indefinitely for no good reason)_ or convince Sam to let it go _(yeah right, get punched in the fuckin' face and called traitor for my troubles)_. He gives both of these options some serious thought, and eventually decides to put the fake ID to good use and let Sam and Dad duke it out for a few hours.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He gets back around one in the morning, having been unceremoniously thrown out after Bathroom Girl _(Carly? Cathy?)_ decided to get all post-coital chick-flick and ask incredibly invasive questions - well, okay, yes, most people do freely offer up information like name and age, but Dean's not most people - and when he _(does that shit really matter, Cara?)_ politely deflected these questions, Bathroom Girl _(you dick, my name's not Cara)_ told the bouncer to get rid of him, and because everyone in these one-horse towns are related somehow, the bouncer took personal offense at Bathroom Girl's _(Chloe?)_ plight, and here Dean is, drunk and banned from the only bar in town _(doesn't even matter because I'm sure Dad won the fight, we're out of here in the morning, never seeing this place again)_ and sitting on his front porch.  
  
He drunkenly misses the keyhole six or seven times, hits his forehead on the door when he tries to get closer to the lock, realizes that he's using Baby's spare instead of the house key, can't find the house key, debates sleeping on the front porch for a few minutes, remembers that there's a wonky lock on the window in the bathroom on the second floor, and makes his way around the house. He pulls himself up onto the lowest tree branch that's closest to the window _(still pretty fuckin' far, move over, Spiderman)_ and jumps _(more like a ninja, fuck Spiderman)_ onto the ledge.  
  
Except he forgot that he needs both hands to pull up the window, because that shit's heavy, and so he's just dangling from the second-story bathroom ledge, wondering how he's gonna explain himself to Dad, when the window _(am I a psychic ninja?)_ opens up by itself.  
  
No, he's not a psychic ninja.  
  
He sees Sam's face a half-second before he feels a _whoosh_ ing around his legs, and he hears a _thunk_ , and he looks around and he's in the bathroom.  
  
"Stupid idiot, are you trying to wake up the entire neighborhood?"  
  
"Not a stupid idiot. You're a stupid idiot." Let it never be said that Dean Winchester can't think on his feet.  
  
"Sure, Dean. Hey, next time you decide to drown yourself in a distillery, try to actually finish the job instead of forcing me to clean up after your mess." Sam glares at Dean and stalks out of the bathroom, scrunching his hands into fists, making his way into his and Dean's shared bedroom.  
  
Dean stares after him, and Sam's words eventually settle into his brain _(little bitch thinks he can pull shit like he did earlier and accuse me of fucking everything up)_ , but since Dad has miraculously stayed asleep throughout this whole encounter, Dean decides not to escalate this into a fight. Besides, Sam's probably just pissed about having to leave again. Dean's not exactly unused to being his punching bag.  
  
Sam's already in bed when Dean enters the bedroom, but he hears Sam move around when Dean starts undressing. He walks over to where he's pretty sure his bed is -  
  
"Fuck!" Goddammit, that fucking hurt _(is my entire foot broken? Jesus fuck)_. He fumbles around for the light switch and flips it on, ignoring Sam's angry protests, and he sees the culprit responsible for his pain.  
  
"You fuckin' kidding me right now, Sam? Really?" A goddamn _cinderblock_ is standing upright in front of his bed. He stares at it, wondering how the hell Sam can be such an evil mastermind at thirteen years old.  
  
"What's on your neck? Did someone hit you?" Sam's tone is more worried than angry now.  
  
"Nobody hit me, Sam. Go the fuck to sleep. I'll pack all your shit up tomorrow." Dean's not interested in explaining the details of his sex life to his little brother at the moment. He's too busy simultaneously plotting Sam's death in a way that Dad can't blame him for, and also scanning the room for more _fucking_ cinderblocks. Cinderblocks. He stands there for a few more seconds, but can't think of a way to kill Sam and get away with it, so he hits the light switch and carefully avoids the _goddamned cinderblock_ as he crawls into bed.  
  
He's almost asleep when he hears a whisper. "Is it a hickey?"  
  
Dean's pretty sure Sam's never even _breathed_ near another girl. "No. How do you know about hickies?" But maybe Dean's wrong, maybe that's why Sam doesn't want to leave. Dean sure wasn't interested in leaving Lauren Solinsky when he was thirteen years old.  
  
There's a beat before Sam answers. "Mark Wu came to school the other day with one on his neck and said a girl gave it to him." Oh.  
  
"That's great, Sam. Can I go to sleep now?" Dean flops over in the bed, trying to get comfortable.  
  
He almost misses Sam's hard exhale as he drifts off.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They leave the next morning, in the same car for the first time since Dad gifted Dean with the Impala on his seventeenth birthday. Dad's _(stolen piece of shit)_ car had finally broken down, and because the universe hates Dean, he decided to wait to get a new car at their next location. Dad doesn't seem to notice how pissed off Sam is, or how sick Dean is, but Dean assumes Dad gets the gist of where he went last night, because Dad looked at his neck and rolled his eyes. Didn't say a word, though, so maybe he doesn't care.  
  
Dean manages a nap in the car, and they're halfway to Montana when Dad _lays_ on the fucking horn. Dean jerks awake and the sudden movement coupled with the pounding in his head makes him lose his lunch in the empty fast food bag at his feet.  
  
Dad's roaring with laughter, so much so that he can't steer straight, but it doesn't really matter because nobody's on the fucking road _(why the fuck did he honk his horn like that what the fuck are you fucking kidding me Dad really)_ and besides, he can hear Sammy snickering in the backseat.  
  
Dean is busy bemoaning his bad luck that he ended up in this family _(first with the cinderblock, now with the horn, what's next, am I gonna sleep with a long-lost sister or something?)_ and if his misfortune forges a bond between Sam and Dad, it's really unfair and a little scary and totally not worth it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sam's birthday arrives while they're in yet another small town out in the boonies - there seriously can't be more than four streets here, and one of them is Main Street - but this time they've managed to get an actual house. Dad got a deal that Dean and Sam would both work on repairs for the landlord on all of his properties in exchange for rent, which is nice, but seeing as how Sam has school every day, Dean's burdened with most of the work. So now Baby doesn't get the new brake pads Dean's saved all his pool money for, and Sam gets a birthday present instead, because it's his fourteenth birthday and Dean figures it's a small consolation for having moved three times in the last six months.  
  
No idea what to get him, though. He toils around on Main Street for a few hours, looking in all seven shops, but he can't find anything that really screams "Sam" to him, so he goes and buys a couple new paperbacks and a few pairs of jeans _(kid grows like a damn weed)_ before going to work on Mrs. O'Flaherty's "broken" sink. This is the third time this week she's called to complain, and not once has Dean found a problem, but seeing as how she turns up her thermostat to 95 and lets him know just how welcome he is to take off his shirt, he's pretty sure she's not concerned with the sink.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He gets home later that afternoon, feeling vaguely threatened by Mrs. O'Flaherty's invitation to dinner - "I'm sure you'll never taste meatloaf like this again!" - and showers before picking Sam up from his after-school chess club or whatever the hell he's doing this month. Sam's waiting out front of the school with a package of cookies in his hands and a smile on his face _(thank god)_.  
  
"Heya, kiddo. Good day today?" Dean's mood is only improved by the knowledge that Sam won't be stomping through the house tonight.  
  
"Yeah, all the kids in Ping-Pong club -" _(not chess, I suppose)_ "- pitched in and bought some cookies for me 'cause they heard it was my birthday today. _And_ I got an A on my math test, Mr. Robinson says it was the highest in the class."  
  
"That's great, Sammy." They ride together in silence until Dean pulls into the driveway. He turns to look at Sam, and his face is all red and he's staring at Dean. "Everything okay, Sammy? You look... sweaty."  
  
Sam turns even redder. "Y-yeah, Dean, no, uh, yeah, I'm - I'm fine. Can we have pizza for dinner tonight?" Stuttering weirdo.  
  
"Sure thing. Did you want to open your presents now or after dinner?" Dean unlocks the front door and walks in, checking the landline for any new messages _(please, God, if you're out there, please, no more repairs tonight and definitely no more invitations from Mrs. O'Flaherty)_.  
  
"Presents? Like more than one?" Sam's visibly excited, and Dean nods and secretly hopes that Sam's expectations aren't too high. He hands them over, still in their respective plastic baggies.  
  
Sam takes the books out, leafs through them, deems them acceptable with a small smile, and holds up the jeans to see if they're long enough - they definitely are, he might actually have to roll them up a little - before grinning at Dean. "Thanks, this is great. I haven't read any of those yet."  
  
Dean smiles in return and rummages through the kitchen, looking for the takeout menu.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It's later that night, when Dean's getting ready for bed _(Sammy would kill me if I went out tonight, Pamela Handerson it is, thank fuck I have my own room for once)_ that he hears a weird squeaking noise in the hall. He opens his bedroom door and finds Sam standing there, staring at him, with his hand curled into a fist _(why was he about to knock? He never knocks. He just barges)_ and his lower lip caught between his front teeth.  
  
"Oh. Hi."  
  
"What are you doing? It's almost midnight, Sam, aren't you waking up at like five A.M. to go tutor Greg or something?" _(All he fucking talked about through dinner, you'd think Greg gave free ponies with every tutoring session or something)_.  
  
Sam just stares at him. "Craig, Dean. Craig. Not Greg." He's clearly annoyed.  
  
"Alright, well, whatever. Did you want something?"  
  
Sam fidgets.  
  
Dean waits _(and waits, and waits, and waits...)_. "Okay, well, this was fun and all, but I'm not interested in dealing with you tomorrow when you're Oscar the Sleepless Grouch, so maybe you should just go to bed." He starts to close the door, but -  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Dean waits.  
  
Sam slides in through the crack in the door and sits on Dean's bed.  
  
"Dude, are you feeling okay? I'm pretty sure... he... won't be too mad if you cancel tomorrow." _(How do I still not remember his name? It's definitely either Greg or Craig)_. Dean sits down next to him.  
  
"I'm feeling okay, Dean, just..." Sam's not even looking at him. So Dean waits.  
  
"Can you promise not to freak out?" Sam mumbles so softly that Dean almost misses it.  
  
"Yeah, Sammy, whatever it is, I won't freak out. Just tell me." Dean's starting to get worried now _(Did Sam cut his dick off or something? Wait, shit, oh no, is he expecting me to give him the sex talk? I am not equipped to handle that. Fuck no)_.  
  
"Okay." Dean blinks and Sam lunges on top of him, shoving him down onto the bed, and Dean smacks his head onto the bed frame _(ow FUCK Jesus what the fuck is happening why is he attacking me)_ and he shuts his eyes in pain and feels a warm something on his face _(what is going on what wait what is he what)_ and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's laying on top of him with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth is -  
  
His mouth _(what is going on wait hang on is he actually)-_  
  
Dean shoves Sam off of him, hard as he can, and quickly scoots up the bed, far away from Sam and that hurt look he's sporting now.  
  
"Sam -" _(I promised him I wouldn't freak out, promised, can't freak out, really fucking unfair of him to make me promise that beforehand)_ "- Sam, uh, ahem, Sam, that's not -" is all Dean can get out before Sam runs out of the room and slams his own bedroom door shut down the hall.  
  
Dean can't fall asleep that night, not because of the soundtrack _(how long can one kid cry about something that I can't fix)_ , but because of his racing mind _(did I do this did I mess him up somehow to make him think this is acceptable)_ and the nausea _(he kissed me my little brother actually kissed me little brother me LITTLE BROTHER)_ , and wonders how he'll be able to look at Sam in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean lies awake while Sam gets ready for his day and leaves the house.  
  
Dean lies awake while Sam is at school.  
  
Dean lies awake when his stomach starts growling, and figures it's time to hork something down before Sam gets back, because he sure as shit needs his strength to deal with _that_ conversation.  
  
He makes himself a peanut butter sandwich while he waits - turns out, he doesn't have to wait that long, because somehow he hadn't wandered down until about three in the afternoon _(angsting for so long, I'm basically Sam at this point)_ \- and Sam walks in a few minutes later. Good thing he took the initiative and walked home, because no way is Dean up for going outside so the world can view his shame. He'll save that for another time.  
  
They're in a Winchester standoff in the kitchen.  
  
Dean's sure as shit not speaking first. Sam can explain himself.  
  
Sam chooses to throw that opportunity out the window when he grabs a bag of beef jerky and locks himself in his bedroom.  
  
Dean's not sure if it's disappointment or _(it's definitely relief, gotta be)_ relief that courses through him when he realizes that Sam isn't coming back out.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The next year passes with no surprises.  
  
The obvious thought had occurred to Dean, but the idea of distancing himself made him feel sick _(keep Sammy safe, that's my one job, I can't just abandon him)_ , and no way in hell was he going to _talk_ to Sam about his _feelings_ -  they're Winchesters, dammit, and no amount of awkwardness will change that - so, status quo it is, no matter how often he catches Sam just _watching_ him now, and no matter how unsettling it is sometimes.  
  
Dean's birthday is entirely forgotten, Sam's is marked only by their father's return, and they move two more times before summer arrives.  
  
Sam grows another two inches and a fondness for poorly-disguised nighttime masturbation.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dean awakens, his eyes flying open _(what's going on did someone break in?)_ as he tries to understand why he's not asleep anymore. The windows are shut, the door is still locked, salt lines all still intact...  
  
But there's a shuffling in the bed ten feet away, and when Dean turns to look, Sam stares back at him, flushed and holding one of Dean's shirts to his nose.  
  
A cold chill runs down Dean's spine as he shuts his eyes, flips his back to Sam, and wishes like hell that he would wake up from whatever nightmare _this_ is.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Daylight comes and Dean takes it upon himself to get Sam a girl. Maybe then he'd be less inclined towards his... _(don't think that word don't think it that's not what's happening here)_ inclinations.  
  
Goddammit.  
  
Dean stomps downstairs and Sam is sitting there hunched over the cereal, pointedly staring at the table.  
  
He clears his throat.  
  
"So, Sam, I was thinking, maybe, uh, tonight, I'll take to you the bar across town tonight, they don't card or nothin', but just, maybe it'll be nice to get out of this house, talk to some, y'know, girls or somethin', I don't know." Very smooth. Totally subtle. A+ _and_ a gold star.  
  
Sam doesn't look up from his cereal bowl. "Dad wouldn't like it."  
  
"Forget what Dad wants. He won't be home for another week. I'm in charge, and I wanna go out tonight, and I want you to come with me. I don't even have to work tomorrow." Well, he does, but Frank's been real lenient lately, probably due to the fact that Dean's been fuckin' _single-handedly_ dealing with all the "weird-noise" complaints _(how the fuck am I supposed to know what's wrong with a car going "whirr-whirr" when it normally goes "rumble-rumble"? How is anybody supposed to know that?)_ \- and it seems as though the entire tri-state area's been coming in with these complaints over the past few weeks, because they have a normal amount of customers with actual car problems, like that beautiful Mustang that came in with a cracked engine block _(fuckin' idiots shouldn't be allowed to walk near these masterpieces, Christ, makin' lemons from lemonade)_ \- so it's probably okay if he calls in late tomorrow with a hangover.  
  
Sam contemplates.  
  
Dean waits _(and waits, and waits, and waits)_.  
  
Finally, Sam looks up from the cereal bowl.  
  
"You're an idiot, Dean." And with that he dumps his cereal in the sink and trudges upstairs.  
  
Well. That went great.  
  
Dean goes out that night, by himself, and comes back alone too.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They're at the lake one evening, celebrating Sam's official _(legal)_ license, and as a show of good faith Dean even let Sam drive Baby there.  
  
This lake has seen a fistfight over the last Dorito, plenty of sparring - this place is so out-of-the-way for the rest of the population, but only a few miles from the house they're squatting in, which is actually nice for a change and even has working water once Dean gets the generator going, but of course Dad's been home long enough to get on Sam's nerves, which mean Sam's out of the house as much as possible, which means _Dean's_ out of the house as much as possible, which means that the generator's basically going to waste - one sorely misguided fishing experience, and a handful of beer-flavored stargazing sessions.  
  
It also sees the first sign that Dean’s repress-and-deny instinct may run a lot deeper than he suspects.  
  
They're laying side-by-side on Baby's hood, cooler at their feet _(sucks to be you, Sammy, wouldn't wanna jeopardize that new license with a DUI, now would we?)_ , and silence surrounding them.  
  
"What would you do if you woke up one morning to all of your hair just chopped off?" Dean still thinks nothing could top the Nair'd shampoo, but it's good to keep his options open.  
  
"I'd dye your junk bright green." Yeesh, Sam's really not bluffing. Dean makes an "alright, alright" noise and settles his hands behind his head.  
  
There's a beat, and then, "What if we weren't brothers?"  
  
Dean looks over at Sam, but he's really nailed that poker face down. Dean doesn't know how exactly to interpret that question.  
  
"Are you asking if I'd still wanna hang out with you? I mean, yeah, I guess, you're not so bad when you let that cloud of angst off the leash." Dean knocks his foot into Sam's.  
  
Sam's still silent.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. "What, was that not good enough for you? Am I supposed to list all the things about you that make me swoon? 'Cause I'm gonna tell you right now, it's not happening, I left my Romeo costume at the dry-cleaners."  
  
Sam sits up _._  
  
Dean is plainly _shocked_ at Sam's nerve _(how dare he block my entire view of the stars, the sky doesn't just belong to him)_ , and more than a little surprised when he realizes that the reason he can't see the stars is because Sam is looming over him.  
  
Dean quirks his eyebrow at Sam, but Sam just looks at him _(when did he get so big? He never used to be this big)_.  
  
And then leans down.  
  
Dean's a little tipsy, but not drunk enough to miss what's happening, and Sam gives him plenty of time to say "stop".  
  
And he _(can't)_ doesn't.  
  
Sam hovers just above his face, lips barely touching, more just breathing the same air, and he still _(what am I doing)_ doesn't.  
  
Sam smells exactly the same way he's smelled for the past sixteen years, minus the months of baby powder. His lips are warm, a lot softer than Dean would have ever expected, a little chapped - but hey, they're hunters, it's not like they have unlimited access to beauty products twenty-four-seven, and _no_ , no matter what Sam says, Dean's hair gel is _not_ a beauty product, it's just a drugstore item that helps him get laid, it's basically like a condom that he uses for his hair _(gross)_ \- and when Sam's hands come up to grasp his face, they're a lot more tentative than Dean would have ever thought possible of his strong-willed baby brother.  
  
It's then that he realizes that his own hands are basically just clenched into fists underneath his head, and seemingly of their own accord do they slide through Sam's hair _(it's so soft)_ , and that's when Sam makes a little noise and slides his hand down from Dean's face, down over his side, down over his thigh, down over his -  
  
"Mmmpf!" Dean _(what the fuck am I doing what am I doing what's happening what am I doing)_ lands, _hard_ , on the ground, and he hears Sam sigh from up on the hood and flop onto the windshield.  
  
Dean takes a minute to collect himself, because really, what the fuck, and stands up and dusts himself off and looks over at Sam, who seems thoroughly unperturbed given that they just _(DON'T SAY THAT WORD!)_ -  
  
Dean walks away, walks the four miles back home, and when he gets home Baby still isn't there, neither is Sam, but luckily Dad still is, because how else would the universe have any fun?  
  
So now he can't go inside, because then Dad will know Dean ditched Sam and that whole song and dance will only end up in a lot of shouting and explaining himself and then more shouting because the reason for ditching Sam is _fucking unreal_ and then they'd have to go find Sam anyway.  
  
Dean decides to save his vocal cords for the night and camps out in front of the beat-up shed, the perfect vantage point because Dad can't see him and _(if he comes back)_ Sam won't be able to see him but Dean will be able to hear it _(if)_ when Sam shows up, and then he can go inside.  
  
A few hours later, Baby pulls in, Sam at the wheel, and Dean breathes easy.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Two days _(feels like a year since I've met Sam's eyes)_ pass and Dad announces that he found a short hunt, banshee or something, and that Sam has to come along.  
  
Dean makes up a hunt of his own and distracts himself with the first biker chick he finds for the next week.  
  
If he's surprised at how long her dark brown hair is when he slides his fingers through it, well, that's not important. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean returns to a war zone.  
  
Shockingly enough, Sam and Dad's week-long _(hellscape)_ hunt hadn't improved their relationship one iota, and had only served to alienate Sam even further.  
  
When they aren't hurling nasty insults at each other- and that's actually less frequent than Dean would have imagined, given Sam's _unbelievable_ ability to make each word slice deep, which is a talent he most definitely didn't acquire from Dad but has most definitely honed on him - they're as far apart from each other as possible, Dad drinking his sorrows and recording the day's events in his journal, Sam brooding in silence, and that's almost worse.  
  
Dean hears Dad go to Sam's room, later that night, and from the sounds of it, Dad's trying to _(apologize? What? Since when does he choose apologies over 4 a.m. penalty runs?)_ make everything better, and Sam's having none of it.  
  
Dad storms back down the stairs, doesn't even look at Dean as he mutters something about going out, don't bother waiting up.  
  
Dean looks in the general direction of Sam's bedroom, wondering if he'll get murdered in his sleep _(probably)_ for checking in on him.  
  
His affinity for self-destructive behavior kicks his best judgment in the ass as he lets himself into Sam's room.  
  
"Sammy?"  
  
"Fucking Christ, Dean, it's Sam, how fucking hard is that to remember?"  
  
Okay, then _(better lock my doors tonight, Lizzie Borden's feelin' antsy)._  
  
Dean turns to leave, but _(well, I've lived a short, unhealthy life, might as well throw in the towel now)_ his affinity for self-destructive behavior kicks his best judgment in the ass once again, and he sits on Sam's bed instead.  
  
Sam's back is turned to him, curled up into a little ball in the furthest corner of the bed.  
  
They sit in silence for _(one hundred fuckin' years, Sam, I could starve to death waiting for you all the goddamned time)_ a few minutes.  
  
Sam speaks so quietly, Dean has to strain his ears to hear.  
  
"I know it's not just me."  
  
Dean's blood runs cold - maybe he isn't talking about _(DON'T SAY THAT WORD)_ what Dean thinks they're talking about, maybe he's just talking about how much he hated the hunt, it's not like he hasn't made his feelings clear in that regard over the years, it's just bitch, bitch, moan, bitch, and whine, and then bitch again, although given his propensity towards said expression, it seems unlikely that a sentence sounding like a confession and an accusation rolled up into one would be referring to something so commonplace - and he freezes.  
  
Sam rolls over, stares at Dean in the darkness of the room.  
  
Dean is still _(gulp)_ silent.  
  
Sam narrows his eyes.  
  
"I'll stop. But I wanted you to know why."  
  
The meaning is clear behind his words _(fuck you for making me suffer through this with you, Sam. Fuck you.)_  
  
It's incredible how much Sam can say when he barely says anything at all.  
  
He rolls back over and Dean forces himself to leave.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dean's trying to fall asleep when his thoughts start to wander.  
  
It's been ages since that night at the lake, and yet certain images will not vanish from his mind's eye. It's incredibly distracting.  
  
For more than one reason _(you've got to be fucking kidding me, of all things, Sam's right about this?)_.  
  
Surprisingly enough, Dean's not really reassured by the fact that he's not the only freak in the family.  
  
He jumps into a cold shower and although that's enough to quiet down certain parts _(heh)_ of him, it isn't the mental bleach he was hoping for.  
  
* * * * *  
  
After that _(sickening)_ lovely little epiphany, it's all Dean can do to keep himself under control.  
  
It seems as though once he acknowledged it in his conscious brain- wet dreams are absolutely, one hundred percent, completely and totally off-limits, seeing as how crotchety Mrs. Rodriguez in all her glory has starred in not one, not two, but _three_ of Dean's wet dreams, and literally nothing is as disgusting as watching her remove her dentures, wash them off with hose water, and replace them _all while blocking the front entrance to the building_ , so yeah, there's no way Dean's actually attracted to that walking turn-off, and therefore there's no way that Dean's actually attracted to Sam - the dam had broken free, allowing flashes of things previously repressed to rise to the surface when he least expects it.  
  
Spacing out underneath a Chevy _(remember when Sam was hovering over you?_ ).  
  
Whipping it out to take a piss _(don't forget about that time Sam rubbed it through your jeans)_.  
  
Sheets tangling up around his neck _(Sam's fingers did the same)_.  
  
Fuck you, brain.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dean finds himself simultaneously grateful that Sam's kept his word and also completely devastated at the realization that he _(can't)_ won't ever get what he apparently wants most.  
  
It's made easier when Dad decides that Sam's finally old enough to leave by himself for hunts longer than a weekend. Dean doesn't want to spare any time nauseously daydreaming with Dad sitting ten feet away.  
  
He comes to the conclusion, a month before Sam graduates, that even though Sam's probably not going to like it, Dean can't be _that_ kind of brother. He loves Sam, more than he loves anything, and he can't _do_ that to the baby brother he's basically raised for the past eighteen years. He just can't. He changed his diapers. He helped him sleep after particularly horrific nightmares. He watched every fucking soccer game, drove to every _fucking_ practice _(because apparently the school needs to practice three hundred times a week)_ , quizzed him on every vocab word _(except when Sam got smarter than Dean overnight, that stopped pretty quickly)_ , taught him how to read, shoot, fight, and he's not about to teach him how to fuck his older brother.  
  
He _can't_.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"If you leave this house, don't bother coming back."  
  
Sam looks about as sucker-punched as Dean feels.  
  
He leaves anyway.  
  
Dean goes numb, physically aches as the giant chunk of his heart Sam's carved out for himself withers and dies.  
  
Dad takes off in Baby, and Dean can't even go after Sam in Dad's truck because _(bet he fuckin' did it on purpose)_ the new battery still hasn't come in.  
  
Dean knows that Dad's not going after Sam.  
  
So he walks the nine miles to the nearest bar and _(who'da thunk)_ Baby's in the parking lot. He goes inside, sees his Dad sitting down at the corner, walks over, holds his hand out, and when Dad meets his eyes, it's with resignation.  
  
The keys feel heavier in his hand than he'd expected.  
  
Dean turns around and walks out, starting up Baby, and drives to the nearest Greyhound station.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It's not until morning that Dean realizes he never looked in the subway tunnel across the street, and sure enough, there's Sam, sitting with a pathetically small bag and looking like he got as much sleep as Dean did _(none)_.  
  
Sam sees him, Dean _knows_ Sam sees him, but Sam just sits there and keeps staring at the ground.  
  
Dean sits next to him.  
  
Silence.  
  
Until, "You can't make me stay."  
  
"Not trying to."  
  
Sam doesn't look at him, but Dean sees how his shoulders tense.  
  
"When's your bus?"  
  
"Loads in a half hour."  
  
"Should probably head over, don't you think?"  
  
Sam doesn't move for a moment, and Dean stands up, holds out his hand.  
  
Sam doesn't take it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"You don't have to wait with me."  
  
"Sure I do."  
  
Minutes _(hours, days, years)_ pass in deafening silence until the announcer declares it's boarding time.  
  
Sam doesn't move, just stares at the bus.  
  
Dean waits _(and waits, and waits, and waits)_.  
  
"Come with me."  
  
The words are said so quickly it takes a second for Dean to unscramble them in his head.  
  
He feels yet another part of himself, deeper down, break off and vanish.  
  
"Please, Dean. Come with me. We can get an apartment together and just be _normal_. I'll take classes and you can get a job at a garage or something and we don't have to hunt and we can actually see people our own age and _we can be normal_."  
  
The announcer bellows for last call.  
  
Dean feels something snap and he grabs Sam's head, so close to his own, and kisses him like he's dying _(I am)._  
  
He rests his forehead on Sam's. "No, we can't." He whispers it _(can't bring himself to speak, voice might crack, wouldn't that just be the fucking icing on the goddamned cake)_ and squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
He stands there, wishing that he could be someone else, _anyone_ else.  
  
He turns, doesn't watch Sam board, doesn't watch the bus take off, and drives back to Dad.

 _Blindsided_.


End file.
